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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23999122">Weighed Down By Other People’s Tragedy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiel/pseuds/Kaiel'>Kaiel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Death of a Parent, Emotional Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, The Lonely - Freeform, consensual compelling, dubious use of Beholding powers, jon uses the power of Beholding to help Martin talk about his feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:42:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,713</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23999122</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiel/pseuds/Kaiel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The lonely runs deep and Martin is having a tough time of it. Takes place a few days after they get to the cabin, soft hurt comfort.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jon Sims/Martin Blackwood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>111</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Weighed Down By Other People’s Tragedy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sorry if this is a little angstier then my normal writing, just needed to get this one out. Un betaed so I apologize for the state of it. Comments are how I feed myself in quarantine.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It was a few days after they had settled into the cabin that it happened. Jon may have pulled Martin from the Lonely, but the Lonely was insidious, it infiltrated itself into your being in ways that were nearly impossible to see, and Martin had been immersed in it for a very long time. Jon shouldn’t have been surprised by Martin’s breakdown, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t catch him off guard. Martin had seemed fine, better then fine. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Jon had seen him laugh and smile and even humming to himself as he went about the cabin unpacking. The kettle breaking seemed to be Martin’s breaking point though. Jon had never been good with displays of emotion and he was deeply unprepared to handle the situation. The kettle broke and Martin just sat down on the floor and shut down. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He didn’t cry, that at least Jon would understand. He just accepted the kettle was broken, and sat on the floor against the sink, eyes sliding shut and jaw clenched. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Martin? What, uh, what’s the matter? I can, I can go into town to pick up a new kettle? Or we could boil water in a pot- there’s, there are options.” He tried and failed to joke. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I’m fine Jon. I just need a minute.” Martin said, his voice free from inflection though there was an edge to it that Jon couldn’t define. “I’m going to go for a walk I need some air.” He said after a pause. Martin was up and out of the cabin before Jon could even open his mouth. He may be bad with emotions, but he got the distinct impression that he should probably not leave Martin alone right now. Jon hurried after him. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">For a heart stopping moment he didn’t see Martin outside and Jon feared for a moment that the Lonely had taken him once again, but he caught sight of Martins blue jumper under one of the few trees on the property. As he walked over Martin seemed to tense. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I- um I would like to be alone right now Jon if that’s alright.” He said. His voice still completely devoid of discernible emotion. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Are you sure that’s a good idea Martin?” Jon asked carefully. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Yes Jon it’s fine, I just, need some space.” Jon was torn. He knew there was something wrong, if he pushed at the edges of his mind he even </span>
  <span class="s3">Knew </span>
  <span class="s2">it. But if he pushed he might drive Martin away and he had only just gotten him back.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Ok, um, I, I trust if that’s what you say you need I, I trust that’s what you need.” Jon stuttered out. “But please if, if you need to talk, don’t, don’t shut me out.” Martin drew in a shuddering breath. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I can’t Jon. If- I can’t talk about it. You, you’d need to </span>
  <span class="s3">ask </span>
  <span class="s2">me.” Jon cautiously sat down next to Martin. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Do you want me to ask?” Jon said quietly. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“No.” Martin said immediately. “But, I- I think I might need you too.” He added, in a voice that was barely above a whisper. His words nearly stolen by the winds of the highlands. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“</span>
  <span class="s4">Martin what’s wrong?</span>
  <span class="s2">” Jon asked, the compulsion wasn’t strong, but it was strong enough that Martin couldn’t stop the words from bubbling up, sticking in his throat where he tried in vein to swallow them down, keep them in. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You’ve been through so much and I can’t burden you with more.” The words were like poison on his tongue. He didn’t want to say them, but at the same time, a part of him wanted to cry from relief of being about to finally tell someone. “I- I can’t talk about my pain, because I know how much you’re dealing with, and the idea of adding to it makes me feel sick. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">I’m so tired Jon, I feel so heavy but I can’t tell you about it, because your already carrying so much weight. You know, I never really got the chance to deal with my moms death?” There were tears flowing down his cheeks now. “Peter wanted me to take a full week off, spend some time alone to really feel it. He called it compassionate leave.” Martin let out a helpless laugh. “I couldn’t do it, I only lasted a day. I was right back at work. I was too worried that if I was gone Peter might target someone else. I was dealing with the death of my own mother, and all I could think about was how it my pain might hurt other people. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">God I needed someone to be there for me so badly, but you know, even if someone had been there I wouldn’t have reached out. I couldn’t have. I’m too aware of what everyone else is dealing with to make them deal with my problems.” At some point Jon had pulled Martin into his arms, but Martin couldn’t stop speaking.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“It’s not that I don’t think my feelings have value, I know they do, and I know I deserve to have an emotional outlet just as much as anyone I care about does. But I can’t talk to people I know are suffering with the knowledge that I am adding onto it. That’s why I never talked about my mother to anyone. Not really not in a way that mattered. No one knows how many nights I spent with the guilt of part of me hating her a little. Or how I wish I was able to hate her for what she put me through. But I can’t. I can’t talk about it, because really what does it matter? I can handle it. I can take the feelings and the emotions and I can hold onto them, and unburden them in my poems. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“It’s funny, I know so many people so well, but when the Lonely started to take hold, I don’t think anyone really noticed. I can tell you exactly how everyone in the archives takes their tea, when their birthdays are, how many siblings they have, and probably more of their anxieties and struggles then is fair for me to know. But you know, I don’t think a single one of them could say the same about me. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">And- and it’s my fault, I know that, they couldn’t know those things if I didn’t tell them. But if I never tell them I don’t have to worry about how much it will hurt when I realize they’ve forgotten. I want so badly to be known, but there’s no way to know someone without it hurting them. It hurts so badly to see my friends suffering, and I know, that if their suffering hurts me, then mine would hurt them too. So they can’t know. It, I think it helps sometimes to have some one who seems, untouched by at the mess. It, it makes it seem like there’s hope you know? I’m so tired of feeling unknown. Of knowing that if I died in the Lonely, no one would be able to say what my favourite flower was.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">But it’s more then that, it’s there isn’t a single person on this planet who would know I was having a breakdown if I really didn’t want them to know. Do you know I had no less then 8 panic attacks at my desk during the week before prentiss’s attack, and not a single person noticed? It’s not an attack on you or the others, it’s, I’m just really good at hiding it.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">But how could I have talked about what I was going through to anyone? Tim was still dealing with the loss of his brother, and I knew how much that still weighed him down. And Sasha was still so stressed about the job interview she had had and upset that she might be passed over for yet another job because a man with fewer qualifications then her had also applied. And I know in the weeks leading up to Prentiss you were on edge too Jon, not to mention we weren’t exactly friends back then.” Martin tried to keep that last part in, but he couldn’t stop it. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I just wish I could care about people a little less, just enough that I could tell someone what was bothering me without feeling guilty that I had in someway made their lives more difficult. And- and I say I wish I cared less, because wishing other people cared more feels to much like putting the burden on other people again. I can’t wish other people cared more because I know how much caring more hurts. I’m just, so tired of caring. All I can think about with the broken kettle is how can I show how much I love you if I can’t prove it by knowing how you like your tea?” </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Martin finally finished, drawing in a shaky breath, he felt raw, and hollowed out. Jon didn’t say anything. And Martin felt, for once maybe a little understood. There really wasn’t anything to say. Nothing Jon could do would take about Martins guilt at sharing his feelings with others, and nothing Jon could say would make him feel better. But just, knowing it, Jon knowing Martin’s pain and sitting in silence. Martin felt like Jon maybe knew him just a bit deeper. The only acknowledgement that Martin had spoken at all was Jon’s silent offer of a handkerchief and a gentle pressure as Jon fit his hand in Martin’s and gave it a squeeze. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">It was some time later, sitting in a comfortable silence that Jon shifted suddenly. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Is that a cow?” He asked in surprise pointing a a distant brown smudge on the horizon that was slowly moving in their direction. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Huh, I, I think it is.” Martin said. “Good. Cows are, cows are good.” He added, still trying to force his mind back to happier things, and pull away from the cloud of his own feelings. He’d need to deal with them eventually, but he did feel better. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Good cows eh?” Jon asked, fondness colouring every syllable of his words. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah.” Martin said with a bit of a laugh. “Yeah.” He squeezed Jon’s hand just a fraction tighter. </span>
</p>
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